


lurched like a stray to the arms that were open

by thishazeleyeddemon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Wings, Body Image, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hell Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:33:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27151154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thishazeleyeddemon/pseuds/thishazeleyeddemon
Summary: Michael is not beautiful. This is a fact of life, like the blue sky or the round earth.Adam disagrees with him.
Relationships: Michael/Adam Milligan
Comments: 17
Kudos: 89





	lurched like a stray to the arms that were open

**Author's Note:**

> Copes with depression by writing very soft fics
> 
> This one is supposed to be corny I haven't seen my loved ones in seven months

Michael was not beautiful.

After all the first draft, the sketch layer, the prototype, is never the ultimate version of something. Michael was the first try at an angel, at a being _period. Obviously_ his Father is infallible, but, well, Michael would have to be blind to not notice that he was missing certain traits his siblings had.

No one was as bright as Lucifer, but Michael wasn't as bright as Raphael or Gabriel, either (which Gabriel had noticed. He used to tease him about it, before-). His wings were off-color and just a little too large and unwieldy, visible scars left from where they had been grafted on (there had been no sky when Michael was made - why would he have had wings?). Some of his siblings were brilliantly colored like miniature stars (Michael's favo - the part of creation he was most familiar with) or living rainbows; except for his wings, which were white and a very reflective silver, Michael was a flat, steely gray.

He wasn't beautiful. Not like how Lucifer was.

_It was_ -

\- his father's will, so obviously Michael approved. He had no need to be beautiful, after all; he had work to do, the army to command, Heaven to maintain. His Father's sword did not need to shine while it cut. He wasn't beautiful, and it didn't matter.

And when he was alone in his nest (the few snatched moments there were no tasks to complete) and he groomed his wings over and over again, polishing the silver to a blinding glow and combing through his plain, slate-colored fur until it was bright and glossy, he told himself that it was only because he was the Viceroy of Heaven, and had to maintain standards for the others. It wasn't _for him,_ obviously not - it was a part of the position Father gave him. It was fine to do. It was fine.

\----

"Michael, what's wrong?"

Michael frowned, using what was currently his hand to try and get at the nearest pair of his wings. "My wings _itch,"_ he said irritably. He didn't mean to be rude, but it was _uncomfortable_ \- something was definitely out of place. Not just his wings - his fur felt out of place too, dry and textured...oddly against his fingers. "They have for a while now, it's annoying."

Adam stepped closer, ignoring the chair he'd walked through. His apparitions were less solid than Michael's, and he didn't quite like doing this trick - he'd said if he did it too much it made him feel like he was all air. But today he'd felt like looking Michael in the eyes, and even if he was less solid, for some reason he could always touch Michael. "Can I help?"

"Please," Michael relaxed. Maybe a few hundred years ago there would have been shame, but this was _Adam_ and Adam was _good_ and apparently his father was set to pull apart Creation so Michael was going to take his pleasures (like wings that didn't itch) where he could get them. "Here, let me just -"

It wasn't as easy as angels could make it look to pull wings onto the material plane. There was a certain degree of...pressing together involved, compressing four or six or twelve or two hundred wings into one pair that could fit onto this side of reality. It didn't come quite naturally to Michael - his wings misliked cooperating to do it. Still, he pushed, and with a soft rush, his wings fell forward into the physical world. They were nearly too big to fit in the room, and he held them carefully, not desiring to knock anything down.

Michael stretched them, wincing as he moved. There was a definite ache, too - nowhere close to his pain tolerance threshold, but definitely unpleasant. It would be nice to get this squared away.

Adam still hadn't moved to touch. His eyes were wide.

"Adam?" Michael looked down, and his voice caught in his throat.

What of his feathers that weren't torn and ruffled and broken, ripped out of place, were dulled and dark. Even the flash of his silver feathers was dim, like a corroded mirror.

" -chael? Michael? Michael!"

It was stupid. It was stupid, it was stupid, he could fix - it would heal - these weren't even his eyes, why would they water like they were - this was so stupid, he just -

\- it was about then that he got an armful of Adam. He gasped, temporarily shaken out of the swirling vortex of his thoughts. His arms came up automatically to wrap around Adam as Adam swung his leg over him so he was straddling his waist. Adam's hands came up to cup Michael's cheeks. Michael felt his soul flutter against his skin, warm and gentle and worried.

"Explain?" Adam prompted.

Michael swallowed. How did humans live like this? The body offered its own commands, the machinery ticking away without your leave. Even an archangel's influence was limited. He didn't want to cry, but the body was pricking at the tear glands without his leave, his breath coming weak and shaky.

"It's stupid," he said weakly, pressing his forehead against Adam's shoulder.

"It's you, it's not stupid," Adam said automatically. He stroked Michael's hair, soul glowing with love and concern. "You can tell me anything."

"I - I'm _ugly,"_ Michael said, just barely avoiding a sob. Shame bubbled up in his chest, and he pressed his face more into Adam. _Stupid, stupid, selfish, weak - he had more to care about then something so shallow and pathetic, he was so selfish -_ He waited for Adam to pull away, to mock him for caring about something like that. _Ugly and selfish and weak -_

Adam sighed, and pressed his lips to Michael's forehead. Warmth pulsed between them, warmth and care that made Michael gasp. It was so intense he almost wanted to flinch away - Adam cared so fervently, compared to Father and Raphael and everyone else. It was so immediate, so present that Michael sometimes felt it like a physical thing.

"You're not ugly," Adam murmured. "And that's not stupid." 

Michael bit his lip. "I _am,"_ he said miserably, and a little annoyed - surely Adam could see it. "Always, I don't - I wasn't made to be beautiful, Adam," he said, wondering if Adam could understand. "I was just plain, before, but now -" he glanced at his ruined wings and swallowed. Crying might be his least favorite physical thing.

"No, shut up," Adam snapped, and the heat in his voice made Michael startle. "I don't care what you were made to be," he continued, voice getting softer. "And I _really_ don't care about angel beauty standards or whatever. You're beautiful to me, you know that?"

Michael drew in a shaky breath. "My wings are -"

"You think Hell didn't leave its mark on me?" Adam carded his fingers through Michael's hair again. He was so gentle, with him. He didn't have to be, he couldn't really hurt Michael...but he was gentle anyway. "You know my soul isn't the same as before. You think I'm ugly now?" He was comforting Michael, but there was an odd harmonic to his words, a weight that made Michael blink.

"Of course not," Michael told him. "You could never be ugly to me -" Oh.

Adam relaxed minutely, before smiling softly at Michael. "I love you," he said. "You aren't ugly. Even when I first met you -" and here Michael tensed; they had made their peace with it but neither liked discussing those first days and years, before Michael knew what a gift chance had given him "- I thought you were beautiful. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, you know that? I could look at you forever."

That landed so squarely on Michael's id he had to close his eyes for a second, all words escaping him. "I - no one ever asked me to be beautiful," he told Adam, thoughts billions of years old spoken aloud for the first time. "No one ever needed me to be beautiful, no one but me ever cared if my wings were shiny. It was -"

Adam completed the thought for him. "It was yours."

That's exactly it. How can something as little as Adam know him so well? "Yes," he repeated. "It was mine."

"That's not stupid at all," Adam told him. "I'm grateful you'd let me help with your wings." And he was grateful, Michael could feel it. Loving and grateful and understanding of the importance of what Michael has said.

"Only you," Michael confessed. "I wouldn't let anyone else."

Adam kissed him for that. Michael'd grown to like kissing on the mouth, although based on Adam's memories the apparitions feel odd, too dry. 

"Then let's start fixing you up."

**Author's Note:**

> If this is bad I do not care, I slept two hours


End file.
